More and More
by WildwingSuz
Summary: See my story “More.” This begins directly after the last sentence of that one. 2/3.


**Author's Notes:** The sequel to my story "More"; you _do_ have to read that one first to get this one…unless, of course, you _like_ being confused. This was written the day after I finished "More" and took a little bit longer than that one, but not by much.

**Spoilers & Summary: ** See "More." This begins directly after the last sentence of that one. 2/3.

**Second in a series of 3 connected stories.**

Thanks yet again to Alia and Cory, who are simply the best out there. Period.

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**More and More  
**Rated PG-13  
By Suzanne L. Feld

If a bomb went off and we all died right now, I'd die happy.

Of course I don't _want_ that to happen, I'm just sayin'…

I have Scully walking at my side, my arm around her shoulders, hers around my waist. We've just shared several incredible kisses, the best of which she initiated. Jesus, I've waited a long time for this. And, apparently, so has she.

It's been one hell of a week, a case, a day, and a night. It's dark out but morning isn't far off, and for the first time in a long time I can't wait for it; for once I don't dread the achingly long night or the usually lonely day to come. Because I'm lonely no more.

Even before Samantha disappeared I was a bit of a loner, and her disappearance only made me more so. Oh, I've always had friends, been a gregarious sort when I'm in social situations, but I eventually always find myself alone and content with it. When I was young my mother used to say I could make friends with a stone statue, but I know that once I did I'd retreat away to the plinth beneath and hide away by myself.

That, however, is a thing of the past as of now.

I can't resist; I turn my head and inhale the scent of her soft, thick hair, rubbing my nose lightly against her scalp and feeling her shiver beneath my arm. How many times have I wanted to do something like that, but held back because she was _just_ my partner? Her hair isn't, perhaps, as sweet-smelling as it might be at another time, but then she just saved my sorry ass from the reanimated dead and dragged me out of a cold dank cellar, so I can cut her a break if her hair isn't minty fresh. It still smells mostly of lemons, which I know is from a strong citrus shampoo she uses after autopsies to help remove the smells of the morgue.

I know all her scents save one, and I am determined to get to that one before much longer if I can.

After I nuzzle her hair she glances up at me with a sexy little smile, which I return, and tightens her arm around my waist. It's all I can do to not swing her around against the wall and kiss her silly right here and now; if not for my still-sore arm, I might just have done that and to hell with who could see us or what anyone might think.

We reach the doorway to the outside and have to let go of each other as an empty gurney pushed by a tired-looking orderly is coming the other way through the sliding doors, but as soon as we're through I move up and put my hand in its usual place on the small of her back as we head for the car. She glances up at me; I can read the question in her eyes, and I shake my head. No, I'm not cold, Scully; I've got you and the promise of what we'll have together to keep me warm.

I want to put my arm around her again but we're only a few steps from the car; government plates come in handy when you're dragging the zombie-bitten partner you've just saved into a hospital. I wait patiently as she unlocks the passenger door, but as soon as she turns back to face me I reach out with my good hand and cup her jaw, hoping I'm showing my feelings and thoughts on my face as I lean down towards her. In the dim orange glow of the sodium arc lamp above us I study her features as I slowly advance, giving her plenty of time to move away should she change her mind, just like I did in my hallway a couple of years ago. I guess I still can't believe she wants this, though she's so clearly demonstrated that she does—more than once, in fact.

Her eyes, a deep cobalt in this light, are falling to half-mast but still meeting mine squarely, and her full lips are parted and ready for mine as I feel her arm slide around my waist to pull me closer. Any lipstick she wore earlier is long gone, though I had felt its slickness against my mouth the first time I kissed her. I see no hesitation, no doubt, in her face or her lidded eyes. There is nothing but desire in those stunning eyes gazing up into mine; I no longer have much doubt that she wants this as much as I do.

Though I am, of course, afraid to believe it.

Each kiss we share grows more powerful, evoking stronger and deeper emotions in me that I hold back by dint of will. God, how I want to crush her against my body, lower her down to the ground, make love to her until we're both sated and exhausted and thoroughly immersed in the other.

But not here.

So I hold onto myself with an iron mental grip as our lips touch, caress, move in closer, tongues coming out to play. My stomach jolts as her tongue finally meets mine squarely, its silken softness a welcome invader as she explores my front teeth with it. Whatever else she may be, Scully is certainly no slouch when it comes to kissing—or letting me know what she wants.

God, this is gonna be good.

I suddenly realize that she's pressed against my left side again; my arm has worked its way around her shoulders with no conscious thought from me. She has one arm around my waist, the other hand resting on my right bicep just above my elbow and the body of the sling. Even now she's considerate of my injuries.

I wish I could pull her against my front, feel the press of each breast against my chest, and push my erection into her taut belly. But this will do; God, yes this will do. At least for now.

Finally we have to break the kiss to breathe; she continues to lean against me as I straighten up, neither of us letting go of the other. I tighten my arm around her shoulders and heave a deep sigh, then rest the side of my cheek on the crown of her head. I can feel her warm breath on the front of my throat, the weight of her face against my upper chest. I could stand here all night, all week, all year just holding her, reveling in the feel of her body willingly pressed to mine at long, long last.

Of all the times we've held each other, this is the sweetest so far.

When she moves away I reluctantly let her go, gazing down at her and waiting to see what she'll do. One eyebrow quirks up and a soft smile curves her lips, then she reaches up and kisses me lightly, a hand caressing the side of my evening-scratchy face. Our eyes meet, hold, and again no words are needed. Call it telepathy or just two people who know each other so well that we don't need to speak; everything that needs to be discussed is settled. I let her move away and I get in the passenger side of the car as she walks around to slide into the driver's seat.

The only question I have left, which will be answered shortly, is will she take us to her apartment or mine.

_finis_


End file.
